


NightmareCember

by avosettas



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (how could i forget the most IMPORTANT TAG OF ALL!!!), Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Christmas Decorations, Crosstale Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Dusttale Sans (Undertale), Errortale Sans (Undertale), Ficlet Collection, Flashbacks, Found Family, Gen, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Hurt/Comfort, Impalement, Killer Sans (Undertale) - Freeform, Memory Issues, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Skull Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychosis, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 8,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosettas/pseuds/avosettas
Summary: A series of ficlets about our favorite goopy boy, based onthis listby @Sirsen_nohope
Comments: 25
Kudos: 96





	1. bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> yes i work part time. yes i go to school full time. no i dont actually have time for this
> 
> anyway. basically this might not actually be finished by dec 31.
> 
> names, because i like to make the bad guys Misunderstood Villains and do you _really_ think dust and killer wanna be called that?  
> elderberry - ht(sr) sans  
> myce - dust sans
> 
> i will be sticking a name list in any chapters that need them so don't worry too much about memorizing lol

It took a lot of work to fix up this universe as he had. 

It was dying, stagnant, and had been for nearly six centuries now, but it was finally looking more _alive_ in Nightmare’s eyes. 

Once, it had been - at least in the small area he had known - full of apple trees, and small buildings. The summers were cool and the winters were mild, and any storms they got blew over fast - fast enough, at least, that sheltering in a tree hadn’t been detrimental to Nightmare or his brother.

Things were much different now. For centuries, it had been dark, clouds constant over the moon, and there was never any daylight. Its only inhabitants had been Nightmare and whatever small creatures were left, for in a rage Nightmare had destroyed the village and its apple trees, and all the area's inhabitants. 

For the first century after… after, it had also been inhabited by his brother, although one would mistake him for a statue if they weren’t careful. Back then, the sun had shone, if only weakly and for an hour or so at time, before disappearing below the horizon again. 

Then someone had taken him, and Nightmare was left alone. 

The world went dark as pitch, and most everything died. Even before then, the only things left were dry grasses and weeds, but now even those died, lacking the feeble sunshine and moonlight that had sustained them. 

Still, it does him no good to reflect on the past. Nostalgia is his brother’s territory. Bittersweet memories, Nightmare supposes, are his. 

And now, five centuries _after_ , the moon shone brightly, perpetually tinted orange like a harvest moon. It hangs low in the sky, and laying on the roof, Nightmare feels like he could simply reach out and touch it. 

The stars are newer. Just a few small flecks in the sky, dim and barely competing with tonight’s waning gibbous. Maybe they’ll be brighter later, but for now Nightmare is just happy to see them. There’s still no daytime, but the wane and wax of the starshine as time goes on might provide a rudimentary sense of time, if one looked out the window. 

Beyond that, anything living in here isn’t his doing, but it makes him proud. Elderberry’s little vegetable garden and Myce’s flowerpots were the newest living things here, and the only plants besides the native weeds and grasses. 

There is, of course, the stump of Nightmare’s childhood home, half corroded with stone, although he hesitates to call it _alive_. 

All in all, it’s as alive as a world trapped in eternal nighttime can be. Small though it is, it’s his home, and it’s fine. 

Better than it used to be, even. He just kind of wishes Dream could see it.


	2. bad sanses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> names:   
> elderberry - ht(sr) sans  
> myce - dust sans  
> barcode - killer sans  
> sycamore - ht(sr) papyrus  
> leeza - ht(sr) aliza
> 
> (for context between htsr and htsw: sw is based on popatochisssp's version of horrortale, and sr is based on the original version by sour-apple-studios, with sr standing for sour, and sw standing for sweet)

They only have one battered box of Christmas decorations, and honestly, their tree isn’t much to look at. 

“...where did you even get that?” Barcode asks, a mocking sort of smile on his face as Elderberry spreads their tree skirt around the base. The skirt is ratty, too, green and decorated with pine cone and acorn patterns. Nightmare is fond of it. 

“i thought… it looked… lonely…” Elderberry says slowly. 

“it’s not that bad,” Myce argues, sifting through the bag of dollar store ornaments he’d bought. 

“It’s like the tree from that Snoopy show,” Nightmare says, amused, as Elderberry steps back to admire the tree, now adorned with its skirt. He’s sure they’ll be finding pine needles everywhere for months, even with the skirt.

“Yeah,” Cross agrees. “Where’d you get it, Berry?” 

“...sycamore helped me pick it out… when he and leeza got theirs.” He digs around in his pocket for a moment, and then pulls out a small, clearly handmade ornament. It’s felted, and shaped like an elderberry, dark purple with pointed green leaves. “...i have this, too.” 

“It’s very nice,” Cross tells him. “Did Sycamore make it?” Elderberry nods slowly, and then opens the small loop of rope at the top and places it on a branch. 

Barcode, in the meantime, has pried open the box of decorations Nightmare pulled out of the attic. “aw, boss, these are cute,” he teases, lining up a group of alphabet blocks that should spell “MERRY CHRISTMAS”. 

Nightmare shrugs from his spot on the couch. “I’ve no particular attachment to anything in there.” 

Barcode frowns, and then begins arranging the blocks on the coffee table. From this angle, Nightmare can’t see what he’s doing, but he has no doubt that it’s going to annoy him

In the meantime, Cross turns on the radio. It crackles ominously, and Nightmare glares at it for a moment, before excusing himself on the pretense of getting more hot chocolate. His absence will give the radio time to settle, unhindered by his rampant negative aura. 

He’s in the middle of stirring milk into his mug when he hears the guffawing from the living room. That sort of thing is never a good sign, especially if Barcode is involved. 

Nightmare walks back in, frowning as the sounds of Crosby’s “White Christmas” trickle from the speaker. Cross and Elderberry stare at him like children expecting a punishment, but Barcode and Myce are too busy cackling to notice Nightmare standing on the threshold, tentacles curling idly. 

On the table, the blocks are arranged messily to say “MERRY SHITSCRAM”. 

Nightmare just rolls his eyes, and plucks out the first of Myce’s dollar store ornaments to hang on the tree, shiny and apple red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was nearly late, i had a very rough day today... 
> 
> tumblr @asriells  
> twitter @avosettas


	3. cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> names:   
> myce - dust sans
> 
> i actually enjoyed this a lot, helped me flesh out my version of dust!

Myce is shivering when Nightmare finds him. 

He’s curled up into a ball, tucked into a corner of the attic. His teeth are chattering and his mismatched eyelights are darting back and forth. Nightmare can tell Myce isn’t really seeing him. 

“Myce,” he says quietly, crouching down to the other’s level. His back aches as he does, and even at eye level Myce is still ignoring him. 

It’s not his fault, Nightmare knows. The whole attic reeks with Myce’s fear and paranoia. It’s certainly a feast for Nightmare, though he’d rather it not come from Myce. His bones rattle, and Nightmare can’t tell if it’s from fear or cold. Neither is ideal. 

“Myce,” he says again, moving slowly towards the smaller skeleton. He begins to reach out, before reconsidering; Myce is already in fight-or-flight, and he doesn’t have a default choice, usually, as unpredictable as a game of Russian roulette. With his luck, Nightmare will just end up with an even more wound up, traumatized friend to take care of, as well as a missing tentacle. 

Myce seems to focus suddenly, hood falling back as his eyelights snap to meet Nightmare’s. Dust floats off of it - mostly from the attic, collected in the fabric as he wedged his way into the corner. 

“Myce,” Nightmare repeats patiently. 

“i didn’t - i didn’t -” Myce’s teeth chatter, breaking up his frantic speaking. His fingers claw at his skull, and Nightmare decides, fuck it, he’ll heal and grabs Myce’s arms by the wrists, gently pulling them out in between the two of them. He leaves his grip loose enough that Myce could easily escape his grasp, but Myce actually relaxes. 

Myce rambles all the while, but it’s incoherent - random sounds and alliterative phrases that have no relation to each other. His bones are ice cold, and Nightmare isn’t much warmer, but he envelopes Myce loosely in his tentacles until something more can be done. 

It seems to relax Myce even more, and he goes silent, save for the chattering of his teeth and the rattling of his shaking bones. His eyes slip shut, and Nightmare considers his appearance, and how bad his psychosis seems, and wonders idly how long it’s been since Myce’s slept.

He doesn’t really have time to worry about it right now, though. Instead, he lets it all fall away from his senses as he reaches out telepathically to the others. 

_We’re in the attic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @asriells  
> twitter @avosettas


	4. fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [me holding nightmare] i love this boy so much [makes him go through trauma] love him <3

If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? 

Of course it does. But if the only person who can sense fear is the empath having a panic attack, is it really happening? 

Of course it is. It just means that no one will be the wiser. 

So Nightmare sits in his bedroom, trying to dispel the taste of phantom blood in his mouth. There’s nothing in it; no tongue to bite, even, just his mandible and the teeth attached to it. There isn’t any blood. 

The copper taste of it lingers every time he swallows, though.

He has to restrain himself from bringing his hands to his skull. The liquid negativity that covers him healed his injuries, but… 

He fails. He squeezes above his right eye socket, tight enough to hurt. It’s solid, but marginally less so than the left side. Like flesh, as compared to bone. 

He flexes his fingers again and it feels like rocks (sticks, bricks) slamming into his skull. His skull is caving in and his right eye socket is _gone_ \- 

No, it isn’t. (Yes, it is. But it’s been that way for _centuries_ , and he knows it all too well.) 

Nightmare loosens his fingers as he curls into a ball on his bed. It’s cold, everything is cold. ~~He misses Dream. His brother always exuded warmth and he’s always so cold.~~. 

He closes his functioning eye so he can ignore the blind one, and tries to sleep.


	5. nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late! i usually write at night but i had a closing shift last night... sucked ass lol

_”Stop it! Stop it!” Dream’s voice is shrill and weak against the crowd and the growing wind. Nightmare hardly even recognizes it as his brother. “Leave him be! Please!”_

_He can’t see. His right eye is just darkness; the vision in his left is swimming. He reaches for another apple -_

_Something cracks. It’s entirely unlike the earlier noise of his own skull caving inward. But only because it isn’t happening to him._

_Dream’s face is unrecognizable, the golden, postive energy that forms him seeping through the cracks. Nightmare roars, and hardly recognizes his own voice._

_When all is said and done, there aren’t any villagers left. The apple tree looks as though it’s going to fall over at the slightest wind._

_Dream is so, so weak. Nightmare leans down to his brother. Something black and viscous and disgusting drips onto Dream’s skull, and Nightmare only belatedly recognizes it as his own liquid negativity._

_From all the apples._

_“Brother…” Dream whispers weakly. There’s barely anything left that could be recognized as a skull. “There were… a hundred…”_

_Nightmare blinks, and slower than he’d like, he gets it. There were one hundred apples on their tree._

_He’d eaten all but one._

_“Dream, I can’t touch it…” he says, voice breaking._

_“Brother…” It breaks his soul. Nightmare turns, and something that isn’t his hand, but… is him… grabs the apple. It’s long and slimy, like a tentacle. After a moment, he realizes it’s attached to his back._

_He’s too worried about Dream to care._

_“Take it,” he urges Dream. A black spot grows on the apple as they watch, and Dream reaches for it._

_Then, his hand falls, and his skeletal shell turns to dust. The golden energy that forms him dissipates in wisps._

_Nightmare screams._

And wakes up screaming. 

He quickly silences it, lest one of the others hears. But he can’t stop panting. His soul pounds in his ribcage. 

It’s hard, in this state, but he reaches out… 

Dream is safe. Dream is alive. Probably in that Omega Timeline, sleeping, as Nightmare should be. 

He can’t though, not after that. Instead, he simply sits up, stares at the closed door, and argues with himself over calling his brother.


	6. old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had zero ideas for today lol. been wanting to write about error for awhile though...

It’s midafternoon when Nightmare feels it. A spike in negativity, somewhere. 

It’s so strong that for a moment, he simply lets it wash over him. He folds his book open on his chest, and forces himself to just let it hit him, instead of immediately probing it. It still hits hard, like a breaking wave, but Nightmare lives and breathes negativity. It won’t drown him. 

...It probably hurts whoever’s feeling it, though. 

Nightmare probes it - it’s coming from an Anti-Void. He sighs, rolling over and dog-earing his book in the process. Anti-Voids amplify emotions - not necessarily how one feels them, but certainly how strongly an empath like himself could sense them. That was how he had found Cross, after all. His own universe, imploded into an Anti-Void, and his emotions the only thing that could lead anyone aside from Ink there. 

He follows the emotions, on edge - someone could be trying to lead him here. Someone could be… 

Of course, it’s only Error. 

The glitch is so out of it when Nightmare steps into his Anti-Void that he’s almost entirely pixelated. He sounds like a broken printer. 

“Error,” Nightmare says. Error twitches, but doesn’t turn around. “Error.” 

“Wh-at do you wan-t?!” Error grunts, his voice hitching up in odd spots. 

“Well, you’re certainly providing me with a feast,” Nightmare says, amused. “Is it surprising that I would come to check on a friend?” 

“We ar-en’t friends!” Error argues, the pixelation worsening as he moves to stand toe to toe with Nightmare. Then, he suddenly twitches once, twice, and freezes. Above his head, a loading bar appears. 

**Rebooting…1%**

Nightmare sighs, and sits down to wait.


	7. shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone else did stuff w shattered dream but tbh i have zero ideas about him AND ALSO bad sanses live rent free in my brain haha
> 
> hoping to expand this into a longer oneshot from elderberry's POV, but until then... elderberry's arrival in dreamtale, from nightmare's POV. 
> 
> names:  
> barcode - killer sans  
> myce - dust sans

Nightmare stands over the fragile skeleton in the basement. Behind him, Barcode and Myce are feeling confused, intrigued - neutral feelings, and, in Barcode’s case, substantially muted. Nightmare hates to think it, but their dimensional lock may be growing weak. 

But this stranger is certainly weaker. 

By all appearances, he’s a version of that original Sans, but, as with Barcode and Myce, there are subtle differences. The gigantic hole in his skull, however, is decidedly _not_ subtle. 

It’s jagged, and by all accounts he should be dust. No skeleton monster could survive a wound like that. ~~Nightmare himself is an exception. Extenuating circumstances, least of all that he technically _isn’t_ actually a skeleton monster~~. It looks like a deliberate strike, for sure - shattering his skull and caving it in. 

“think he’s dead, boss…?” Barcode asks uncertainly. Nightmare feels him step forward a bit. 

At that moment, the stranger opens his eye sockets. His left eye light, intersected by the crack, is bright, Determination red. The other is a soft shade of purple, and much dimmer. They’re fuzzy and dull, and again, Nightmare marvels that this monster is even _alive_. 

His emotions are so open, fraught with worry and self-loathing and - 

A brother. He’s worried about his brother. 

Nightmare opens his eye; he hadn’t even realized it’d been closed. Then, he reaches out to their guest with a gentle hand to the unbroken side of his skull, and says, “Sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @asriells  
> twitter @avosettas


	8. snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaa late. probably won't be posting day 9 until tomorrow or later either... finals + work is a bad combo w this lol

“This is the _worst_ ,” Cross complains, leaning on his shovel. Nightmare just glares. 

Barcode pushes his shovel on the cinderblocks outlining one of Elderberry’s garden beds hard enough that metal shrieks, and then grins. “would you rather be inside?” 

Cross rolls his eyes, but Nightmare snorts. He’s too stubborn to agree that he can’t help comfort someone worth a damn. 

None of them had been expecting snow, and so Elderberry’s garden beds and Myce’s flower pots had been buried in it. It had been upsetting to Myce, the first one to wake up that morning and see the blanket of white covering his terracotta pots, but none of them had anticipated Elderberry’s reaction. 

They had access to other food, of course, but Elderberry seemed to have linked his garden to food in his, frankly, fragile mind. 

So now Nightmare, Barcode, and Cross were trying to excavate while Myce treated Elderberry to some leftovers and a movie in the house. It was partially for Myce’s benefit, too - if his flowers were unsalvageable, Nightmare didn’t want him to be the one to find out. Better that someone else broke it to him gently. 

Besides, inspecting the poor things for any surviving buds gave Cross something to do aside from shoveling and staring into the blank whiteness, and that was good. Nightmare had felt it as soon as Cross had seen the snow, the landscape of this universe broken up only by the horizon. 

It reminded him of his universe, now an Anti-Void, and it _scared_ him. 

Now, he was calm, and methodical as he sifted through the frozen petals of Myce’s flowers. Nightmare smiles at him, just a bit, and turns to continue unearthing the garden.


	9. icicles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a lot darker than my usual stuff! apparently i decided on whump today... my first idea was writing about "a christmas story".

With the freezing temperatures came ice. It was only natural, Nightmare supposed. 

Sitting on the stoop with some hot chocolate in hand, things feel… fine. It’s not particularly _good_ hot chocolate, he’d never been the best cook, and of course, it’s chilly out, but he runs cold anyway. It’s fine. 

Something drips on his head. 

He looks up, and in the moonlight, a few long icicles glint above him, hanging from the eaves of the house. They look sharp, and he doesn’t doubt that they are. 

The wind blows the next drop into his eye socket, and it’s for that reason he doesn’t move in time. It snaps one of the icicles off, and with his eye shut, he can’t see it coming. He can’t sense it, either; icicles don’t have feelings. 

It lands in the right side of his skull, piercing right behind where his coronal suture would be if it could be seen beneath the liquid negativity that covers him. 

For all that it should be simple - a one-and-done pain of the icicle piercing the soft, slimy shell the negativity has formed, followed by it slipping out through his mandible or something - it isn’t. He screams, and he can feel the magic shockwave his body produces from the unregulated pain. 

It’s cold, _so cold_ in his skull, and he can’t do anything for it. He can feel the icicle sticking out through the back of his head but he’s in too much pain to reach it - 

The wind gusts again, freezing, and he hears the crack of another icicle breaking off. He can’t look up without hurting himself, so he just scrunches his eye shut. 

It hits his hand, right in the knuckles, and breaks. Nightmare hisses, but at least the pain and cold is less than the one stuck in his head.

His head feels like it’s freezing, like ice is forming on the inside, and he can’t make his hands get the icicle out. It feels like a mixture of brain freeze and the onset of a migraine - 

His vision tunnels, and after a moment of fighting it he slumps to the side, landing heavily on the still-impaled icicle. It shatters beneath his weight, but Nightmare is down for the count now. 

At the very least, if any more icicles fall, they’ll hit bones instead of slime-covered holes.


	10. turkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA GIRL CAUGHT UP. and also i did end up writing about a christmas story, its just such a weird movie the bad guys would get a kick out of it.

_“No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey salad! No turkey gravy! Turkey hash! Turkey a la King! Or gallons of turkey soup! Gone, all gone!”_

“There is no way you could get all that from a single turkey,” Nightmare asserts boredly as the narrator continues lamenting the loss of his Christmas dinner. 

“yeah, you could,” Elderberry argues quietly, bright red and dim purple eye lights flicking furtively towards Nightmare. “just gotta be…” He pauses for a minute, and his eye lights go hazy, but they refocus as he slowly nods and says, “gotta be creative about it.” 

“I’m stuck on how many dogs the neighbors had,” Cross replies. “There were at least ten.” 

“i dunno how people have one dog,” Barcode retorts. “to be fair though, i guess we do have a dog…”

“...We do?” 

“yeah. we got you.” Barcode grins, and Cross lunges. 

Myce watches the proceedings next to him with wide eyes, and then turns to Nightmare and Elderberry, on the other couch. “i thought he was going to call me the dog again,” he says with a bit of a wheezed laugh. 

“no, cross is _definitely_ our guard dog - ow!” Barcode calls, beginning leading Cross on a chase around the ground floor.

“...least _he’s_ not gonna steal any of our food,” Elderberry shrugs as they run into the kitchen. “not like those dogs on the tee-vee.”


	11. cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idiots taking their holiday card picture
> 
> names:   
> myce - dust sans  
> barcode - killer sans  
> elderberry - htsr sans
> 
> mentioned:   
> sycamore - htsr paps  
> leeza - htsr aliza  
> bluescreen - blueberror (from CQ's ask error blog)

“this one isn’t really focused either…” Barcode squints at the camera. “should we try again?” 

“Tenth time’s the charm,” Cross replies, rolling his eye lights. “Honestly, dude, how hard is it to focus the camera?” 

Nightmare, silent throughout their argument and unable to see the camera from his angle, finally interrupts. “Let me see,” he says testily, tentacles twitching behind him irritably. 

Cross reaches over Barcode’s shoulder and dislodges the camera from its tripod, and then passes it to Nightmare. In his hands, the image on the LCD display fizzles slightly, like white noise on a television, before returning. 

The picture is alright. It’s the five of them, on the couch, with their “MERRY SHITSCRAM” blocks on the coffee table in front of them. Elderberry is in the middle, relaxed and even smiling a bit, with Myce on his right, and Nightmare on his left. Myce looks more surprised by the flash than anything, his eyes wide, and Nightmare… 

Well, Nightmare is completely out of focus. He frowns. Barcode and Cross, behind the couch, are fine, mostly. There’s some residual blurring on Barcode, probably because he’s closer to Nightmare, and now that he’s looking closer, Nightmare can see the same on Elderberry, too. 

“You’ll have to take the picture without me,” Nightmare sighs, placing the camera onto the coffee table. His tentacles betray his calm demeanor; they’re positively roiling in anger, now. 

“nah,” Barcode replies. “we’ll just get the best we can, and circle you like a cryptid. s’not like anyone will be bothered by it.” 

That was true; the only people receiving these holiday cards would be Sycamore and Leeza, in the Omega Timeline; Dream, wherever he happened to be; and Error, in his Anti-Void, if Nightmare could figure out how to get one to him. They’d probably end up giving one to Core, too, and maybe Bluescreen, if any of them ran into him. 

“Fine,” Nightmare sighs, but when Elderberry leans against him, purring, as Cross and Barcode begin arguing over the angle of the tripod again, he feels… loved, maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically, nightmare's aura makes technology go a little haywire. with stuff like radios, televisions, and laptops it's okay after a few minutes, but cameras kind of... reset themselves? after taking a picture, so they don't get used to him. 
> 
> tumblr @asriells (headcanon posts and general bullshittery)  
> twitter @avosettas (fic wips and updates and NSFW bullshittery)


	12. tree

Very occasionally, Nightmare will find sprouts when he goes for walks. They’re hardly walks, really; it’s more like he simply meanders throughout what’s left of his home universe, and what’s left isn’t much. 

Most of the vegetation outside of the yard is simply dry grass and weeds, and even inside the yard it’s mainly flowers and vegetables grown from seeds or those little plastic pods, brought in from other universes. 

There aren’t any trees left - the universe shrunk after… everything, to be only about a mile or two in diameter, and Nightmare had destroyed all the trees when it had first happened. He hardly remembers it. 

But sometimes, he still finds sprouts. Remnants of apples fallen and long buried, perhaps, finally rotting to expose their seeds to the dirt, or tiny seeds brought in from other universes on clothing. 

Either way, he rips out every single one, and watches it wither to dust in his hand. It’s overkill, maybe, but he doesn’t want to take the chance that anything could survive. 

It’s harsh, maybe, and… sometimes, he thinks he’d like to let things grow here. It would be nice to let the world go back to what it was, once. 

But what it was was harsh and awful and _traumatizing_. And Nightmare refuses to let himself get hurt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @asriells, for headcanons and general bullshittery  
> twitter @avosettas, for fic WIPs and NSFW bullshittery


	13. blitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next few days might be late, i'm working some looooooong hours this week...

A lot of the Christmas lights he’s putting up hardly work, but Elderberry is adamant that it’s simply Nightmare’s aura stopping them from functioning fully, rather than any electrical defects. 

Privately, Nightmare thinks that if that were the case, they would have adjusted to it at some point. They’d been at this for at least an hour, and yet many of the bulbs were still dark. Nevertheless, Elderberry was determined to make these strings of lights work, and no one is willing to disappoint him. 

Barcode passes him another newly untangled length, and the lights, mostly lit, blink and dim unpredictably in Nightmare’s grasp. After a moment, they steady, but Barcode raises a brow bone at him. Nightmare just fixes him with a stare that says, _This is important to him._ For some reason or another. 

Elderberry, balanced rather precariously on a stepladder held by Cross, is none the wiser. Nightmare can’t feel any specific emotions from him, which means he must be happy. He certainly looks it, a small smile gracing his fangs instead of a grimace. 

Another foot or two of lights passes through Nightmare’s hands, and then the next plug and socket. This time, the whole length flickers, despite how briefly the plug and socket are in his grip, and Elderberry looks at him worriedly. 

He drops the wires once the line is taut again, between the ball of lights Barcode is untangling and the neat coil Myce is using his hands to hold until Elderberry needs more slack. The lights flicker again, before coming back brighter. A bulb near the side of the house, one of the first areas Elderberry had decorated, pops loudly, and the whole strand goes out. 

“...okay… maybe… nightmare shouldn’t, uh…” Elderberry pauses, and then starts over. “...maybe i should just… get some new lights…” 

“Wait, are these from your house?!” Cross exclaims, still gripping the ladder.

“yeah, they were…” Elderberry flushes a bit, soft purple with a tinge of bright red. “...mine and my bro’s…” 

“so they’re old as fuck,” Barcode grins, leaning forward over the ball of tangled wire. “no wonder they don’t work. and the boss’s magic ain’t doin’ them any favors, either.” 

“...sorry…” Elderberry’s normal grimace is back, and Nightmare can feel guilt and embarrassment rolling off him in waves. 

Nightmare frowns. “We’ll buy some new ones, Berry, but you can keep these, if you really want. It’s just…” He searches for the words, trying to say it delicately.

“decorating’s a family thing,” Myce chirps. “if we use these, then nightmare can’t help. and since they’re special to you, it’d be real bad if they got broken out here!” 

“...yeah…” Elderberry looks towards the part of the house that’s already been decorated, and sighs. “...but… now we have to get all the…” He gestures at the lights, too agitated to find the words. “we have to get them all down now.” 

“Well, I’m excused,” Nightmare deadpans, stepping backwards to avoid the wires as Myce begins to reel in the slack. “Good luck.” 

He ducks beneath the ladder, and Barcode groans. “fuck.”


	14. pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playing catchup... i wanna try and be caught up for the 21st tho

“...was stupid… shoulda known… better.” 

Elderberry’s face is already a shade of pale purple, but it goes even darker when Nightmare shakes his head to stop him. In between them on the table sits a grocery bag of apples. 

“Just bad memories,” Nightmare says after a moment of silence between them. ~~Black apples and rotten apple cores and cyanide filled seeds…~~ “I’m sure they’re lovely in a pie.” 

Elderberry still seems agitated; it takes him longer than usual to form his next thought. “...would… you eat it?” 

Nightmare doesn’t respond. ~~Ninety-nine rotten-tasting apples, every single bit, the core and the seeds and the stem and the skin…~~

“...pumpkin?” Elderberry suggests. “...or… blueberry, maybe.” 

This, Nightmare can answer, and he smiles. “Either is fine, although I know your pumpkin pie is very good. Chef’s choice.” 

Elderberry just chuckles at that. “i’ll… surprise ya.”


	15. tasteless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [barcode voice] you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid

“Absolutely not.” 

“it’s so cute though, look at it!” 

_It_ is a terrifyingly ugly, two foot tall garden gnome that Barcode has found at the gardening store, and, for some reason, fallen in love with. 

“i like it,” Myce protests. “but i don’t think it’s cute.” 

“I am not putting that in front of our house,” Nightmare argues, “It’s ugly, and creepy.” 

“we could get the little cow instead,” Barcode suggests, just as Cross and Elderberry return with potting soil. 

“...if i put any… decorations in my vegetables the… um, the paint… it might ruin the food…” Elderberry protests, seeing the gnome. 

“Don’t get the cow. Don’t you _dare_ ,” Cross says, throwing the soil into the cart as Barcode waves the crude little figurine in his face. 

“We aren’t getting any of them, because they’re all ugly and that’s final,” Nightmare says. It feels like he’s babysitting a bunch of children. “Put them down, and let’s go.” 

“okay, _mom_ ,” Barcode sneers. 

Nightmare _may_ have to restrain himself from trying to kill him right there.


	16. defective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hurts my fave] [hurts my fave] [hurts m

The town was never good for much, but at least now they had an actual home to live in, if they so desired. 

~~Nevermind the fact that Dream couldn’t move, and couldn’t (or wouldn’t) wake up.~~

Nevertheless. Nightmare has adopted this abandoned house as his home. It was abandoned long before the incident, too, so it doesn’t feel as strange as it _could_ , in his corrupted rotten apple of a soul. 

~~He’s surprised he can still feel _anything_ besides hatred and sadness, yet he _knows_ he was happy yesterday when he saw that butterfly land on his brother’s stone shoulder…~~

And today, he will force himself to look in the mirror. 

There’s a purpose to it: he keeps walking into things; his depth perception is gone. He knows something happened to his skull, remembers hearing something break, but the specifics are lost in the haziness of that day. 

The bathroom in this house has been mostly untouched by him - this new form is almost oily, and he’s afraid to bathe. But now Nightmare steps in front of the mirror and raises his head to stare into the eye lights of his reflection. 

Eye light, rather. His right eye is hidden under the goop that covers his body, and he raises a hand to try and uncover it - 

He flinches. It doesn’t _hurt_ , not quite, but the right side of his skull, extending to where his right eye socket should be is… soft. Malleable. Like there isn’t anything under there at all. 

Like the goop had simply filled the void that was created when his skull was cracked open. 

Nightmare’s legs are unsteady, and he falls onto the dusty rug of the bathroom. Somehow, despite the goop, the rattling of his bones is still audible. 

He’s still _weak_. He did everything to protect Dream and he’s _still weak_. He lied about the villagers and told Dream he was fine when he wasn’t and hid his pain when all he needed was a shoulder to cry on and he braved the taste of rotting apples ninety-nine times over only to lose his brother to cold, unfeeling stone and he still _failed_. 

Nightmare sobs, a loud, broken wail. He thinks that if Dream wasn’t encased in stone, he’d actually confide in his brother that something ~~everything~~ is wrong. But it’s just too late for that.


	17. candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYY it's uhhh 11:30 and i'm caught up. barely. lol [passes tf out]

“Been burning the candle at both ends?” 

Cross’s voice startles Nightmare to wakefulness, and belatedly Nightmare realizes that it’s also the only reason he didn’t slam his skull face first into the table. 

The book in front of him is… well, he doesn’t remember what it’s about. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Cross says. He sounds rather amused. 

“Maybe,” Nightmare replies, trying to keep the grogginess out of his voice. “Or maybe you’ve all been annoying me so much that it’s exhausting.” 

“Either way,” Cross says, unbothered by the insult, “You look like you’re about to Fall Down.” 

“Thanks,” Nightmare deadpans. It’s not possible for him to fall down - he’s not _quite_ a monster. 

Cross shrugs, and maybe the exhaustion really _is_ getting to him, but Nightmare doesn’t realize that Cross has dragged him through one of his code rips until he’s being shoved onto his bed. 

“What are you doing.” It’s hardly a question. 

“Sleep,” Cross replies, hardly answering. He makes his way towards the chair in the corner. “I’ll be here.” 

“My very own royal guard,” Nightmare snorts, kicking off his shoes.

“If you like,” Cross smiles. “‘Night, boss.” 

“...Goodnight.”


	18. spiked eggnog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't know what i was gonna do with this for the longest time, but... 
> 
> memory problems + trying to do math while messing with recipes = no no NO

“bottoms up?” Barcode grins. 

“Cheers,” Cross clinks his glass of eggnog onto Barcode’s, and then gulps it down. Nightmare watches in amusement for a moment, before meeting Myce’s eyes, and knocking back half of his. Myce follows suit. At the head of the table, Elderberry stands with the now half-empty pitcher of eggnog he’d whipped up, glancing between each of them and looking nervous. 

“...it’s kind of…” Myce makes a face. “it’s kind of sour, berry.” 

“it’s fine,” Barcode argues. Cross doesn’t answer, just opens and closes his mouth, wiggling his tongue, as if he’s trying to rid it of the taste. 

Nightmare clucks his own tongue soundlessly in a similar, fruitless quest. “Did you spike this?” 

Elderberry blinks. “...it’s… milk…? and…” 

“No, no,” Nightmare interrupts.

“obviously there aren’t any actual spikes in it,” Barcode snorts. Then, he hisses when Nightmare squeezes a tentacle around his ankle in warning. 

“Is there alcohol in it?” Nightmare clarifies, and Elderberry only tilts his head. 

“...the…” He flails his hand for a moment. “recipe! the recipe… said rum…” 

“How much?” Nightmare asks patiently. Beside him, Barcode taps his fingers on the table boredly. 

“...a… cat…” he mumbles, counting on his fingers. “king… gallon had four…” Louder, he finally answers, “it was a cup.” 

“Wait, didn’t you say you halved everything else in the recipe?” Cross blurts. 

Elderberry’s blue-purple face is its own answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (berry's trying to remember "king gallon had four queens (quarts) who each had two princes (pints) who each had two cats (cups)..." etc)
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @asriells and on twitter @avosettas!


	19. fruitcake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is turning into either "nightmare thinks and is sad" or "the gang does Some Bullshit" every chapter and i am Living for it tbh

The attic is colder than the rest of the house, which Nightmare supposes makes sense. He also supposes that it means he’ll have to warm up the extra blankets, when he finds them, before throwing them at the boys and onto everyone’s beds. 

It’s been cold recently, and so he’s made the decision to grab whatever extra blankets have been stowed up here. The only issue is that he can’t remember exactly where they are. 

Nightmare only gives the corner closest to the ladder a cursory glance; it’s mostly Elderberry’s things, brought back on a quick trip to the Underground. Neither Barcode nor Myce have much up here, having left most of their things in their own Undergrounds voluntarily because of bad memories. Cross has even less, having arrived with only the clothes on his back - there’s a small box under the window labeled with his name that Nightmare simply pushes against the wall with a tentacle as he walks past. 

There are a lot of books, but Nightmare flips through only a few of them. _Your SOUL and You_ \- ew, he’s not a child anymore. _Gardening for Dummies_ \- he holds onto that one, he’ll give it Myce or Elderberry. It simply hadn’t been useful for him, unable to keep most plants alive, and unable to stand the sight of the ones he could. ~~They all reminded him of apple trees…~~

Finally, he makes his way to one of the farther corners. There’s a heavy-looking trunk, with what looks like a cake box on top of it. He’s almost sure this is what he’s looking for; where else would he have stuck the extra blankets? 

He pulls the cake box off first, but it’s surprising how heavy it is. 

Nightmare lets it fall to the floor with a thump, and then crouches in front of it with a huff. It’s _old_ , now that he’s studying it closely. Most of the things in the attic that belong to him are, but he doesn’t remember this. 

Then again, he really doesn’t touch most of the stuff up here. Aside from the books and the spare blankets and clothing, it’s mostly just bad memories. 

After eyeing it suspiciously for another moment, as if it might bite him, Nightmare flicks the lid open with a single tentacle. 

It’s a fruitcake. He can smell its sweetness from where he sits, a few feet away from the box. Unless it belongs to one of the others, it must have been up here for a long time, because he certainly doesn’t remember it.

He pulls the box closer. There’s a little note tucked beside it: _To Dream and his brother._ The last three words seem to have been hastily scrawled, as if they were added as an afterthought. 

With a sigh, Nightmare closes the box. At least it’s already hard as a rock; its saving grace, he supposes, is that he can get rid of it without wasting any _edible_ food.


	20. red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [crsawls out of a pile of groceries] yeah holiday hours
> 
> anyway. thought nm meeting killer would be interesting (and also i ahd no ideas LOL)... i have no idea what his Actual Motivations are tbh

The most noticeable thing about this “Sans” is his SOUL. 

Somehow, it’s become disconnected from his body, and by extension most of his magic. As Nightmare watches, it shivers in front of his chest, bobbing up and down slowly like a tethered balloon. 

Eventually, it chooses a shape - a perfectly circular target, although it only remains so for a moment. The center remains stable, but its outer ring wobbles into less defined shapes as the emotions of its host change. 

It’s what had called Nightmare to this desolate universe, after all. They had called it KillerTale, and now, in this Underground filled with dust, only the killer himself was left. 

He watches impassively as “Sans” laughs himself into a hysterical sobbing fit, and then circles right back to laughter as dark, sludgy tears run from his eye sockets. It’s strange - Nightmare feels a kind of kinship with him, solely from that. 

“Be quiet,” he says finally, soft but stern. “Sans” looks at him, grin bordering on maniacal. His eye sockets are dark, and the dark liquid still dribbles from them, staining the snow he sits in. 

“thought everyone was dead,” “Sans” replies breathlessly. “how the hell are you left - where -” 

“Hush,” Nightmare interrupts. “Sans”’s target SOUL stabilizes again, something Nightmare notes with interest. It remains that way as Nightmare continues, “I am not from this universe. I am more powerful than you could ever hope to be.” 

He leans in closely to “Sans”, cradling his skull with a tentacle. “Sans” doesn’t jump - he’d clearly already noticed them, docile and calm behind Nightmare. “Come with me, and I will make sure you are never a victim of a RESET ever again.” 

The return of “Sans”’s crooked grin is all the answer Nightmare needs.


	21. fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im sorry im very late but this week has been Extremely stressful as has life in general... 
> 
> chronic illness + mental illness + holiday hours + transferring schools = highly stressed bee!!! i am hoping to catch up tomorrow, since im off for christmas, but no promises...

They do the same thing every year. 

Of course, this is only the third year that they’ve even been on speaking terms (or, in Nightmare’s case… known that the other was alive) but still, it’s become a tradition. 

Dream would step through a portal at the entrance point to the universe he was born in from the universe he now lived in, and Nightmare would greet him, warmer each time they saw each other. 

Tonight, smoke drifts upwards in lazy motes above Nightmare’s head from the small teepee fire he’s constructed in front of the stump that remains of the Tree. It’s chilly, as it always is, midway through December in this sun-less universe. He can’t feel Dream yet, but his brother has never had the greatest sense of time; if he was only ten minutes late, Nightmare would still consider him to be on time. 

There’s a feeling in Nightmare’s skull suddenly, like a change in pressure that comes with increased altitude, and unconsciously, he relaxes. Dream has arrived, and sure enough, with that feeling comes the sight of his twin, barely a smudge as he stumbles into their decayed home. 

Dream is fast, though, and before long, he’s in front of Nightmare, leaping up to ensnare his brother in a tight hug. “I’ve missed you!” His aura warms Nightmare much more than the fire, despite being weak like the sun on a winter day. 

“I’ve missed you, too, brother,” Nightmare replies. He pulls Dream down to sit with him, leaning against the stump. Dream sighs heavily, laying a hand on the remaining bark; this stump was his closest companion for a century. The cool stone that remains from that time feels frigid against Nightmare’s tentacles. 

“...Happy birthday,” Nightmare says eventually, at the same time that Dream tells him, “Happy birthday, Night.” It makes Dream giggle, his head laying heavily against Nightmare’s shoulder as Nightmare just grins up towards the stars. 

“Even after all this time, we’re still two halves of a whole,” Dream wheezes, and Nightmare can only chuckle weakly in response. 

“Was there ever any doubt?”


	22. bundle up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> error hours

“You didn’t need to give me anything.” 

Error growls at him, but holding out whatever present it is he’s gotten Nightmare for his birthday, it comes across as completely nonthreatening. Nightmare plucks the package from his hands, if only to shut up the smaller so he won’t laugh. 

It’s soft, wrapped in dark blue tissue paper and tied with a length of blue string. Error twitches as Nightmare tugs the knot on the string open, and then carefully unfolds the tissue paper. He _could_ rip it open like an animal, but this gets on Error’s nerves more, and there’s nothing Nightmare loves more than getting a harmless rise out of his motley little family members.

The present itself is blue as well, and Nightmare has a private chuckle about Error’s color choices; blue, blue, and more blue. This is folded as well, and Nightmare pulls it out to reveal a scarf that’s longer than Error is tall; holding it from the floor, it comes to his own chin. 

“You made this?” Nightmare questions in a mumble, eye light raking over the rows of careful crochet. Error nods mutely. “I… It’s very nice,” Nightmare says weakly. “Thank you.” 

He isn’t generally in the habit of celebrating his birthday, and usually for Christmas or Gyftmas the others simply give him books, but to receive something handmade has touched him deeply. 

Error mumbles a response, before glitching out to another part of the AntiVoid, probably to calm down. Nightmare resists the urge to roll his eye, wraps the scarf around his neck, and then takes his own leave.


	23. sled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry crisis

“This is a bad idea,” Cross grunts as he settles onto the plastic sled Barcode has handed him. “I’m gonna die, and it’s gonna be _your fault_ ,” he says, pointing at Barcode. Barcode only grins from his own flimsy plastic disc, rocking precariously on the hill. 

“We could spray it with cooking oil, like in that Christmas movie,” Nightmare suggests with a smirk. “Then you’d really get some air.” 

“Fuck no,” Cross growls, and beside Nightmare, Elderberry nods along with him. 

Unbeknownst to Cross, Myce has snuck up behind him, footsteps silent in the snow. He kicks at the foot that Cross is using to stabilize himself. 

Cross startles, and Myce pushes him onto the downhill incline, just as Barcode rocks his own sled onto it. 

“He’s mad at you,” Nightmare announces as Myce steps up beside him, bracketing Elderberry between them. 

“well, i wanted a turn before the snow melted,” Myce replies with a laugh in his soft voice. 

Sat on the ground between them, Elderberry snorts. “well now he’s… just gonna break the… uh, the sled… or somethin’.” 

“i’ll use him as my sled then,” Myce threatens, just as Barcode and Cross reach the bottom. Cross tumbles out of his sled and rolls a few feet, looking dazed. 

“Good way to get murdered,” Nightmare observes, watching as Cross leaps unsteadily at Barcode and misses due to his dizziness. “Although I think his primary target at the moment is Barcode.” 

“fine by me.”


	24. stocking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [collapsing at the finish line] hi guys  
> ok anyway. i'm working on some other fics (PSRaT, and also some oneshots) and this one has been falling by the wayside BUT!!! i want to get it done. if not by the end of december, then by early january (mostly bc i get my wisdom teeth out next month and that's the deadline i've set for myself on this fic only.)
> 
> also because it's written weird, the order from left is: dream, nm, error, killer, dust, ht sour paps, ht sour aliza, and ht sour sans.

There are seven stockings on the mantle this year. 

On the left is Dream’s - pale pastel yellow patterned with little felt birds in every color of the rainbow. His name is written in blue, in cheerful, neat print. 

Nightmare’s is purple-bluish-black, speckled with white dots and the smallest bit of glitter, to look like the night sky. His name is written much smaller than Dream’s, because it’s longer, but the white, loopy cursive takes nothing away from the stocking as a whole. 

On the far right of the mantle is Elderberry’s, a bit of a mess. It’s purple, but a much lighter shade than Nightmare’s, with felt pieces sewn messily into a snowman. The red string shows brightly against the white felt, but it has character. One of its button eyes is gone, though, probably fallen underneath the couch. His name is written in the same bunched up script as on Nightmare’s - if he’d written it himself, it probably wouldn’t have been readable. 

Next to that are Sycamore and Leeza’s stockings. They’re both simple - Leeza’s is a dark purple, between the shades of Elderberry and Nightmare’s, and Sycamore’s is a bright green. Neither of them have any decorations on them, but both have names written on them in Sycamore’s large block letters. 

In the middle are Barcode and Myce’s, both blue. Barcode’s is a deeper blue, more of a cobalt. It’s covered in hastily glued on buttons, the hot glue adhering them sticking out at odd angles. Nightmare had called it lazy, and he wasn’t wrong. It doesn’t even have Barcode’s name on it.

Myce’s is similar, but the buttons are at least sewn on in a sort of pattern. His stocking is a much paler gray-tinted blue, and all of the buttons are either red or white, arranged in stripes. Half of the stitches holding them on are so loose that the buttons look like they might fall off. On the top part, unnecessarily squished into a small space, his name is written in tiny, messy block letters.

The last one, in between Nightmare’s on its left, and Barcode’s on its right, is Error’s. It’s dark, dark blue, almost black. The only embellishment is his name, stitched instead of written like the other’s, in big block letters in bright blue string. 

There are seven stockings on the mantle this year, and hopefully the rest to come.


	25. reunion

It’s surprising how much _worse_ Cross looks, after everything. Nightmare had thought he would look better. 

With all the time in the multiverse to be in the Omega Timeline, he had thought that Cross would begin recovering from all the trauma his universe had given him. Or at least, Nightmare thought he would start to sleep instead of forcing himself to stay up all night. 

But Cross is very obviously worse off than he’d been when Nightmare had found him in that wreck of a universe. Even without another person in his head, and a multiversal war to worry about, Cross looked exhausted. 

Nightmare only raises a brow bone at him. “And what’s happened to you?” 

“Please,” Cross says quietly, and he doesn’t speak again. 

Nightmare can only sigh and lead him into the house, begrudgingly telling himself to remember to call Dream and gripe about this. 

(He wonders if Cross feels like the hacky sack that Nightmare has been mentally comparing him to, being kicked from Nightmare to Dream and then back again.)


	26. ham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the. the lunch meat, it's ham, ok?? look i was uninspired but i think killer canonically likes cats so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“stop suggesting mushroom names. she’s a killing machine.” 

“mushrooms can kill.” 

“...mushrooms are also… really tasty…” 

The killing machine in question stares up at Nightmare, wide eyes focused completely on the piece of lunch meat in his hands. Despite Barcode’s assertion, she’s small, maybe the size of a large squirrel, and her bright white fur puffs out like a dandelion. 

“Amanita isn’t a _bad_ name,” Nightmare argues, waving the lunch meat above the feline’s head. Her eyes flick back and forth, just as fast as his hand does, and he finds that it’s actually quite entertaining. 

“yes it is,” Barcode snorts, falling back onto the couch across from Nightmare’s chair with a small bounce. “myce picked it. it’s bad.” 

“fuck you,” Myce replies. “mushrooms are cool.” 

“and… tasty,” Elderberry mumbles again, from next to Nightmare. He’s watching the lunch meat with almost as much focus as the cat is as Nightmare teases her with it. 

“Look on the table,” Nightmare says, nudging Elderberry’s ankle with a tentacle. He’s left the rest of the package on the coffee table, right in front of them. When the other notices it, he snatches it up, and then delicately pulls a single slice from it. 

“what about morel?” Myce says, beginning to suggest names again. Barcode’s head moves like he’s rolling his eyes, though it’s hard to tell if that’s what he’s actually doing, due to his lack of eyelights. 

“stop suggesting mushroom names before i fucking deck you,” he threatens. 

“yeah… you’re making me, uh, hungry,” Elderberry protests. He looks forlornly at the package of meat that he’d placed back on the table. 

“There’s more in the fridge,” Nightmare says with a fond roll of his eye, and that sets Elderberry into motion to open the package again and eagerly devour the contents left inside.

With Elderberry sated, Nightmare finally allows the feline at his feet to have the lunch meat in his hand, letting the dangling slice drop to the floor. She pounces on it like prey, and then begins munching on it. 

“I have a suggestion,” Nightmare announces as he looks up. 

“better be good,” Barcode grumbles. 

“Puffball.” 

“...that’s not bad actually,” Barcode relents, looking at the cat. “alright, puffball.” 

(Later, he’ll find out that “Puffball” is a species of mushroom, too. But by then, Puffball responds to nothing but that name. 

Myce has to lock himself in his bedroom to escape Barcode’s wrath for a week.)

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://asriells.tumblr.com) if you wanna ask me about my headcanons!


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